Not the Only One
by Ebony Nevaeh
Summary: "I'm a consulting detective, only one in the world." Sherlock said. She looked at him with a smirk. "Are you sure?" "Of course, I made up the job." The reply was confident, completely certain. "Well, in short terms. Not." "Not what?" "Not the only one."
1. Prologue: Who Are You?

**Prologue: Who are you?**

It was a typical gray day in London. A steady drizzle fell from the sky, one that wouldn't affect the average person just walking from place to place but would eventually soak anyone who stood still for too long. The air smelled heavily of jet fuel and wet tarmac as the heels of Lestrade's unpolished dress shoes clicked against the pavement beneath his feet. The small, but luxurious private jet sat passively on the runway of the small airport. Reaching the bottom of the roll up stairs Lestrade paused and waited. After just a few minutes the door to the jet opened and out she walked. The dark coat hugged her body nicely and the loose bottom flapped slightly in the wind. Hair the deep red of blood fell around her face and framed it carefully as the wind blew it gently around her head. She paused for just a moment and observed her surroundings before she descending the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom she looked the man standing before her.

"I'm sorry for your…" Lestrade began.

"They aren't dead." She insisted before turning and heading towards the car that she could see sitting on the runway. Lestrade paused before jogging to catch up with the young woman already halfway to the car.

"But you can't be certain they're still alive." He said tentatively. Irritated the woman turned to Lestrade.

"That's where you're wrong. I know that they are alive because otherwise we would have found the bodies. They would have been made examples for the rest of us." She said icily before striding over to the black vehicle and gracefully settling herself in the passenger seat. Lestrade moved and got behind the wheel, the woman ignoring him the entire time. Once the car was started and they were on their way she finally spoke again. "What are the details of this?"

Lestrade cleared his throat before speaking. "Three suicides, all the same."

"What's different about this one?" Lestrade glanced over at her in confusion. "Oh come on, if they are all the same why bore me with this one?" Lestrade quickly dropped the argument and the rest of the ride to the crime scene was silent. Eventually arriving at the dirty and abandoned motel the car was shut off and the two figures emerged. By the time Lestrade was out of the car the woman was at the door and sweeping by Sergeant Donovan.

"Hey, you! You can't be here it's a crime scene!" Sally yelled as she started up the stairs

behind the woman. Lestrade let out a groan before jogging into the building and placing a hand on Sally's shoulder.

"Trust me, just leave it." He said, slightly out of breath. Sally looked at him in surprise.

"You know her?" Sally turned to him in shock.

"You could say that." Lestrade grumbled before looking up sharply at the sound of a voice calling his name. Leaning over the railing at the top of the building was the woman. She gave him a sharp look that sent chills down his spine and had him heading up the stairs rather quickly. Once she was satisfied that he was on his way up she turned and paced back into the room. Here she encountered a rather flustered forensic analyst that was going on about her contaminating the crime scene. Finally giving the man in front of her attention she glanced over him for a moment before smirking.

"How long is your wife away?" She asked. The analyst gaped like a fish for a second.

"Who told you that?" He questioned.

"Your deodorant." The analyst looked at her confused. "It's for men."

"Of course it's for men I'm wearing it."

"So is Sergeant Donovan." She answered and used his confusion to slip by and into the room. Once there she grabbed a pair of latex gloves from a box by the door and walked over to the body laying face down on the wooden floor. At first glance she was able to tell the woman was left handed. She slowly crouched down next to the body, looking at the incomplete message beside the woman's head. _Racehe_. The first thing to go through her head was the German word Rache meaning revenge. Yet that was illogical, why would she carve that in her last moments when she was obviously in so much pain. Dismissing the thought with a tiny shake of her head she stood and looked at Lestrade who had just come into the room. "So, tell me about her."

"Well, her name is Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. Some kids found her."

Silently the woman nodded, before crouching back beside the body. Looking to the unfinished word dozens of possibilities flashed through her mind before finally settling on one. _Rachel._ With that in mind she turned and ran her fingers across the back of the woman's coat. Inspecting her gloves she noted how they came back wet. So the victim had recently been in an area when there was heavy rain. Next she checked the victim's pockets and pulled out a dry umbrella. It must have been too windy to use an umbrella. After taking a small magnifying glass from her pocket she inspected the woman's jewelry. All of it was thoroughly cleaned, except the wedding ring. Obviously the victim was unhappily married. Gently the woman removed the ring from the victim's finger. The inside was nice and clean, regularly removed. Meaning the woman had a string of lovers.

Finished and satisfied with what she had seen the woman stood. Removing her gloves she shoved them in one of the many pockets of her coat she then pulled out her mobile.

"Lestrade, you may want to go get your detective and his pet. He wouldn't be happy to find out that you didn't tell him about this." She said teasingly and looked at Lestrade for a second before heading back to the stairs. "I'll be on the roof. Text me when they get here." With that she swept from the room. Lestrade watched as her petite frame retreated up to the roof before heading back down the stairs and out to his car.

It was a rather average day at 221B Baker Street. Clients would walk through the door, Sherlock would decide if they were worth his time or not, and John would take notes and reprimand Sherlock when he violated some social rule. However today Sherlock decided that none of these cases were worth his time. John could tell that something else was on that brilliant mind of Sherlock's.

As John boiled the kettle he looked over to Sherlock who had given up on his experiments for the day and was laying on the couch with his eyes closed and his hands steepled under his chin. It was strange how close they had become in a year. He could still remember the day that he met Sherlock. He had been discussing flatmates with Mike when he was led to Bart's to meet Sherlock. Then their first case, smugglers who had been murdered over a jade hair pin. It was the first story he had posted on his blog, called the Blind Banker. Sherlock of course hated it but he thought it was pretty neat.

Once the tea was finished and he fixed two cups he placed one on the coffee table by Sherlock before carrying the other to his chair and unfolding the newspaper. There on the first page was what must have had the consulting detective so preoccupied. Three suicides, all exactly the same, that the police were calling 'serial suicides.'

"So Sherlock, what do you think of these suicides? Three all exactly the same?" John asked trying to pull Sherlock back to the present. It appeared to work, for the genius detective opened his eyes and swung his legs over so he was sitting upright.

"It doesn't make sense, they aren't suicides yet each individual has taken the poison themselves." The genius muttered before carding his hands roughly through the mop of curls on his head. He was just about to continue when footsteps were heard on the stairs and Lestrade came into the room. Sherlock was off the couch in an instant. "What's different about this one?"

"A note. Will you come?"

"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind you."

Lestrade nodded and headed back downstairs. Sherlock jumped happily.

"Oh it's wonderful, four serial suicides and now a note! It's like Christmas." He cried excitedly as he rushed about the flat grabbing things and throwing his coat and scarf on. John calmly moved the cups to the kitchen and grabbed his own coat amidst the flurry before heading down the stairs with Sherlock. After hailing a cab and arriving at the crime scene Sherlock had a small spat with Anderson that ended with the forensic analyst looking to Sally with a major sense of deja vu. Sherlock quickly ran up the stairs and into the room. After examining the body he stood and pulled out his phone as Lestrade approached him and asked about any theories. Sherlock was about to speak when another voice beat him to it.

"Your victim is in her late thirties, died of asphyxiation, choked on her own vomit from the drug ingested as it has been with all the others. A professional person, probably media due to the style of her clothes and the rather horrendous shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today to stay in London for a single night. She's been married for a minimum of 10 years but not happily and she has a string of lovers a mile wide."

Sherlock spun towards the door to take in the small figure there. It was definitely female, standing at about 5'1", with hair the color of fresh blood in loose curls around her face. Yet when Sherlock looked at her the only things he could deduct about her were the obvious physical traits. Rather shocked and honestly a little flustered that someone else had figured out the small details he turned to the figure and demanded.

"Who are you?"

The figure looked to him with a smirk on her lips.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock further demanded.

"I was invited here, same as you." She finally replied as she paced forwards. Almost predatory in her mannerisms she walked around Sherlock before standing next to the body and looking down. "Did I leave anything out?"

"Well, there is the matter of her suitcase…"

"Which can be found in an alleyway big enough for a car to fit within a five mile radius of here." The woman interrupted him. As she said this Lestrade quietly ordered his men to begin searching for the lost suitcase. "So Mr. Holmes…"

"How do you know my name?" Sherlock interrupted. The woman gave him a scathing look and surprisingly enough the detective's mouth snapped shut. John looked at the woman in surprise, no one made Sherlock Holmes shut up that quickly, or ever really.

"So Mr. Holmes," the woman began again, "what is it you do for a living?"

"Surely you know."

"I want to hear it."

"Fine if you must know, I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world." Sherlock said. She looked at him with a smirk.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, I made up the job." The reply was confident, completely certain.

"Well, in short terms. Not."

"Not what?"

"Not the only one."


	2. Chapter 1: What Do You Mean?

_She looked at him with a smirk. _

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Of course, I made up the job." The reply was confident, completely certain._

_"Well, in short terms. Not."_

_"Not what?"_

_"Not the only one."_

"What do you mean? Who are you?" Sherlock demanded, getting rather frustrated at this point. The woman, whose name Sherlock still didn't know, merely smirked at him.

"Perhaps we should take this conversation elsewhere." She suggested as she pointed out the dead body on the floor as well as the group of people outside the door who were struggling to hear what was being said. As soon as they were noticed the group began to disperse nervously but didn't stray far. Sherlock collected himself and stood straighter before nodding.

"Yes, perhaps that is best." He said haughtily before sweeping out of the room. The woman watched him go before laughing quietly to herself and following leaving poor John alone in the room rather shocked. John took a moment before sighing and running out of the room to catch up to the two consulting detectives. _Two of them, oh god. _John thought as he ran and caught up to the two. Sherlock hailed a cab and they all piled in, the woman sitting across from them and watching Sherlock silently before a grin spread across her face.

"Explain." Sherlock demanded, this was testing his patience. He had no time to deal with whatever this woman was.

"My name is Jezebel Blithe and I am a consulting detective." The woman, no, Jezebel, said with a smirk on her lips. John paused stunned for a second and looked to Sherlock, whose brain was churning trying to find how this was possible.

"How is that possible? You're what 20? Isn't that a little young?" John asked in shock.

"I'm 22 for your information and no that's not too young, just ask Sherlock he probably started about the same age I did. What, around 5 or 6, when you first began to realize the patterns around you?" Jezebel replied calmly as she turned to Sherlock awaiting an answer. Sherlock nodded before speaking.

"Yes, that's about right. People like us are never too young John, the patterns show themselves early and the brain never rests from them on." He explained, not looking at John but rather fixed on Jezebel.

The city passed by unnoticed outside the window as the air filled with tension, yet Jezebel seemed oblivious to it as she observed the man across from her. The geniuses sat, observing each other and John sat looking between the two of them. It was in this time that John couldn't help but notice the difference between the two. Sherlock was tall and lanky, in a fight he wouldn't seem like much of a threat. Yet Jezebel was petite and built a bit stronger than Sherlock. She wasn't wide per say, but she had a strong frame making her seem as though it would be a bad idea to cross her. Sherlock always dressed fairly formal, with expensive Egyptian cotton suits and his long dark coat. But when John looked at Jezebel he couldn't help but think she had a more casual and practical style. Currently she was dressed in form fitting black jeans with a curve hugging v neck shirt that had John averting his eyes back to Sherlock. Slowly after watching for a while John began to notice the similarities between the two as well. Both carried intent expressions as the took in as much information as they could. Sherlock has these piercing blue, green, gold eyes which seem to look straight through a person, but Jezebel has icy blue eyes, borderline gray, that seemed to make her gaze even more intense than Sherlock's. Both geniuses had an air of pure confidence around them, making anyone around them feel safe in the knowledge that there was someone who knew what to do.

Finally the two finished their observations and Jezebel turned to look out the window when a thought occurred to John.

"Where are we going?" He asked, breaking the silence. Jezebel was the one to respond, turning from the window to face him.

"Well isn't it obvious? We're going home." She said calmly as she crossed her legs, tapping her foot gently against the inside of her calf. John looked over to Sherlock only to find the detective tracking the movement.

"What do you mean home? You aren't living with us." John said quite oblivious as Jezebel merely gave him a grin.

"Oh he is cute, I see why you kept him around Sherlock. Like a little hedgehog, all prickly on the outside but so cute and adorable on the inside." Jezebel commented as she turned to Sherlock. John had the decency to look affronted as Sherlock's mouth turned up at the corner.

"I'm not 'kept'…" John began as the cab pulled out the curb. However before he could finish Sherlock had opened the door, and as second nature, began to help Jezebel out. Jezebel merely grinned at him and linked her arm through his as they walked up to the door of 221 Baker Street. John scrambled out of the cab and huffed as he paid the cabbie before heading in the door as well. Once he was in the door John paused at the scene in front of him. There were boxes of scientific equipment, books, and suitcases of clothes piled around the foyer while the door to 221C was open and voices were coming from the open doorway. Curiously John moved through the doorway and down the stairs to find Jezebel talking with Mrs. Hudson rather happily and Sherlock simply sitting to the side appearing bored.

"It'll take me a few days to get the stuff down here ready for you dearie, I wish I had know you were coming sooner." Mrs. Hudson said and Jezebel smiled at the kind woman.

"Oh it's not a problem Mrs. Hudson, I can find somewhere else to stay for a few days." She said as she looked around what would soon become her new home. 221C was fairly nice for a basement. Mrs. Hudson had had a company come to put a thick, soft dark brown carpet down and the walls were painted a nice midnight blue. It smelled faintly of the paint still and a cleaning detergent in the carpet. There was a small window at the top of the wall to let in the light from just above ground and for ventilation. "You wouldn't mind me putting my lab down here with me when I move in, would you Mrs. Hudson?" At the word lab Sherlock's head snapped up and he looked at Jezebel searchingly. Jezebel merely gave him a look that promised plenty of surprises.

"Oh, no I wouldn't mind. Sherlock has his own upstairs."Mrs. Hudson's face seemed to light up as she had an idea. "I wouldn't want you to have to find somewhere else hun. Why don't you stay with Sherlock and John for a few days, I'm sure they won't mind." Mrs. Hudson said giving Sherlock and John a look that promised something negative if they were to say no.

"Oh, um, right. Not a problem." John said immediately in response and Sherlock silently nodded.

"Thank you two, I promise I won't be a bother." Jezebel said almost sickly sweet and gave them an almost condescending smile. Sherlock's brows furrowed as he frowned and John quickly came to the conclusion as well. She had played them, she played them all. 221B was were she had wanted to be all along and she manipulated them all very subtly to get where she wanted to be. John's head was still spinning with this realization when Jezebel said something about being hungry and Mrs. Hudson ushered them all out of 221C and upstairs to B. Sherlock ordered takeout and Mrs. Hudson made tea as Jezebel looked around. As Sherlock flopped down into his chair, John fell into his and Jezebel opted to sit between the two armchairs in front of the fireplace leaning against the armrest of Sherlock's chair and her feet just barely touching John's armchair.

For a while the only sound was of the fire crackling in the fireplace and the occasional splash of tea as someone took a sip. However soon someone knocked on the front door of the house and John went down to retrieve the food. The began to eat in silence and Sherlock and Jezebel continued to check their phones, looking at each other impatiently as they both hadn't received anything.

"What are we waiting for?" John finally asked as he dug into his food.

"Something from Lestrade-" Sherlock began

"Telling us when-" Jezebel continued.

"He's finally found the suitcase." They finished together as they ate. John looked at them for a moment in surprise.

"What?" It was Sherlock who had spoken but the question was clearly written on Jezebel's face as well as she chewed.

"Why did you two do that?" John asked frustrated, it seemed like they hadn't realized they had alternated speaking but with the same thought.

"Did what?" It was Jezebel this time. John looked back between the two of them in surprise.

"Never mind." He muttered as he focused on eating. The two detectives watched John for a moment before seeming to shrug it off and settling down to continue eating. Silence descended on 221B again until they heard the sound of the front door and wheels coming in. Sherlock and Jezebel were immediately on their feet, watching as Lestrade came up the stair with a pink suitcase in his hands. Hurriedly Sherlock rushed Lestrade up the stairs and Jezebel cleared a space on the table.

"What a minute now, that's still police evidence. No contaminating it." Lestrade said quickly and received a look from both Jezebel and Sherlock as they pulled on a pair of latex gloves from a box in the kitchen. Soon they were searching through the suitcase muttering to themselves.

"Did you check under-"

"Of course I did do you think I'm-"

"No of course not, what about-"

"Yes, did you check the-"

"Of course I did. It's-"

"Not here." Jezebel finished their private, half conversation as she flopped back against the couch. Sherlock sat beside her and began to frown at the open suitcase. It took all of thirty seconds for Jezebel to hop out of her seat and grab her cell phone from her pocket, handing it to Sherlock who typed in the number who returned it to Jezebel so she could type out the message and send it. John, of course, was sitting in his armchair with a cup of tea rather stunned, and of course, very confused.

"What's not there?" The blogger asked

"Her phone, we know she has one-"

"We just texted it." Jezebel interrupted. Surprisingly enough Sherlock didn't seem to mind and continued on.

"So where is her phone?" Sherlock asked as he looked to John. Jezebel watched the interaction with fascination, of course Sherlock had made the conclusion, she had as well, but now he was just asking John to see what he thought.

"Perhaps she left it at home." John said as he leaned back in his seat.

"No, she has a string of lovers." Sherlock replied casually.

"She's careful with her phone, wouldn't let it out of her sight." Jezebel finished the joint thought. Here John paused for a moment, clearly thinking about all they had told him before his eyes widened.

"The killer, you think her murderer has her phone." John said surprised.

"Maybe the killer took it from her." Jezebel said casually, picking at her nails.

"Perhaps she left it when she left her case." Sherlock stood as he said this and began to put on his coat,

"Either way-" Jezebel stood as well.

"The murderer has her phone." They concluded and gave each other a look of confusion before merely brushing it off with a simple thought that great minds think alike. John however continued to look confused.

"Wait, why would you text the murderer? What good will it do? Why-" John stopped as Requiem of a Dream began to play from Jezebel's phone. They all turned to look at the screen of the smart phone vibrating on the table noticing the number being withheld.

"A few hours after his most recent murder, he gets a text that he believe can only be from his latest victim." Jezebel explained to John as the phone stopped ringing.

"A normal person would just ignore the text we sent, but the murderer…" Sherlock trailed off here looking to the group.

"He'd panic." John surprised both detectives by being the one to announce the obvious conclusion. Jezebel nodded and Sherlock turned to John with a grin.

"Very good John, you're getting better at this." He said affectionately, very similar to the way one would tell a dog good job, as he pulled on his coat and scarf. Jezebel moved over to the coat rack and grabbed her own coat, swinging it on before moving her hands to her hair to place it in a messy bun.

"Yes, perhaps in a year or two you won't need so much leading to the conclusion." She remarked before heading out of the door and down the stairs, Sherlock on her heels as they went outside to hail a cab. John froze for a second, confused, before swearing and grabbing his own coat. He ran down the stairs and just managed to clamber into the taxi before Sherlock shut the door.

"Wait, where are we going?" He asked confused only to receive a grin from Jezebel.

"You'll see soon enough." She said smirking. Sherlock opened his mouth to answer John and Jezebel threw one of her gloves at him stopping him in his tracks. "How do you expect him to learn anything if you spoon feed it to him Sherlock." She reprimanded and Sherlock sat back in the seat, almost pouting.

"That doesn't answer my question. Where are we going." John asked frustrated.

"Think about it John." Was the only reply.


	3. Chapter 2: Where are we going?

"_Wait, where are we going?" He asked confused only to receive a grin from Jezebel. _

"_You'll see soon enough." She said smirking. Sherlock opened his mouth to answer John and Jezebel threw one of her gloves at him stopping him in his tracks. "How do you expect him to learn anything if you spoon feed it to him Sherlock." She reprimanded and Sherlock sat back in the seat, almost pouting._

"_That doesn't answer my question. Where are we going." John asked frustrated._

"_Think about it John." Was the only reply. _

John sat against the seat and frowned in thought as he looked out of the window. Silence descended among the group as Sherlock and Jezebel watched him to see if he would reach the correct conclusion. About five minutes into their ride John turned to the two detectives.

"You said you texted the murderer, what did you say?" John asked the two and a grin spread across both of their faces.

"Now you're asking the right questions." Jezebel said and handed over her phone so he could see the message.

"So we are going to this address?" John asked merely for confirmation as he handed back her phone. Jezebel took it and smiled.

"Now was that do difficult?" She asked with a smirk.

"Yes." Sherlock stated and it coaxed a small laugh from Jezebel and a frown from John. A bit of time passed and John opened his mouth to ask another question just as they pulled up to the curb. Instantly the two detectives left the car and strode into a small diner, leaving John to pay the cabbie as always. Once John got inside the diner he was gestured to a small table in the corner that gave a perfect view of the street. The owner, who Sherlock had helped, brought out tea and set it on the table. Silently Jezebel looked at the tea in disgust, it was only her first day in London and she was sick of tea. Quietly she took her cup and sipped at the hot liquid, she was pleased to find it wasn't the sweet and milky substance that she had been ingesting all afternoon but rather a bitter black tea which helped to sooth her stomach after all the sugar that day. Happily she sipped at the drink and thought that maybe drinking tea more often wouldn't be too bad.

As these thoughts went through Jezebel's head John sweetened his tea to his tastes and also prepared Sherlock's cup before they settled in, there wasn't much to do as they waited and none of the group were big on small talk. It honestly wasn't a very long wait before Sherlock noticed something out of the norm and Jezebel noticed it barely a second later. Both of them were quickly out of their seats and John swore before following. The cab they had noticed quickly took off and Jezebel and Sherlock both looked at each other.

"Right turn…" Jezebel started

"One way…" Sherlock said

"Roadwork…" Jezebel pointed out

"Traffic light…" Sherlock again

"Bus lane…" The pattern repeated

"Pedestrian crossing…"

"Left turn only…"

"Traffic lights." Sherlock finished. They paused just a moment before sprinting off. John swore yet again and took off after the two of them and thus a chase across London began. They dashed up staircase, hurtled over alleyways, and slid down fire escapes before finally catching up with the cab.

Sherlock was the one to approach the cab first and he opened the back door peering inside. Jezebel quickly looked over his shoulder and let out a disappointed sigh, turning away from the sight and pacing to the front of the cab.

"Californian!" She huffed and moved back towards Sherlock. Sherlock stood back, obviously trying to find a way to end the conversation when the passenger spoke up.

"Are you the police?"

Sherlock looked at him for a brief second before nodding and flashing a badge.

"Everything alright?" Jezebel asked and the passenger nodded.

"Well, welcome to London." Sherlock said and the two detectives flashed false smiles before walking away John looking at the two confused. Jezebel turned back to scold John into hurrying up and couldn't help but notice the way the cabbie looked back at them as he drove off. Curiously Jezebel paused for just a second before turning back to face forward and continue walking, scolding John quickly leaving her mind. They paused for just a moment only to have John notice the passenger talking to an actual cop and pointing in their direction.

"Got your breath back?" Sherlock asked and Jezebel grinned, a smile breaking over John's face as well.

"Ready when you are," The army doctor replied and they quickly sprinted back the way they came heading back towards 221B. Once there they all headed upstairs only for John to realize he had left something at the small diner they had been at. Sherlock offered to call the owner and have him bring it over but Jezebel shook her head.

"I need a smoke anyway." She said and tapped her breast pocket before moving out the door and walking towards the diner. On her way she passed a phone booth just as the phone began to ring. Jezebel glanced over at it before ignoring it. Once could always be a fluke. The next store she walked by the phone went off as well, but before the worker could pick up the phone it stopped ringing. Now Jezebel was intrigued. She walked to the next phone booth and picking up the ringing phone.

"Who is this?" She immediately asks. The person on the other end ignores her question.

"There is a security camera on the building to your left." It was a man's voice, he was likely mid thirties, white male, has mild arthritis in his right knee by the sound of the chair shifting beneath him. Jezebel turned to look at the camera and watched as it swiveled to point the opposite direction. She quickly looked to the next and noticed it turn as well. This pattern continued until a black car pulled up. Jezebel hung up the phone and moved to get into the back of the black car.

Once in the car Jezebel looked around and turned to the woman sitting next to her. She paused just a moment before deciding that playing ignorant wouldn't benefit her so she settled into the seat and smirked at the other woman.

"Am I allowed to know where we're going?" Jezebel asked with a grin. The woman turned to her and smiled.

"No."

"Your name?"

"Anethea."

"That's not your name."

"No."

"Your employer picked it out?"

"Yep." Anthea popped the p sound and then silence fell upon the car.

"Your employer, a friend of Sherlock's?" Jezebel inquired casually. Anthea shrugged.

"You could say that."

"Enemies?"

"Somewhat."

"Ah, siblings." Jezebel concluded and Anethea shot her a grin before the rest of the ride was spent in companionable silence. When the car finally stopped Jezebel shot Anthea one last smile before stepping out of the rather luxurious car and towards the circle of light she could see coming from the middle of some crates. Of course it was an abandoned warehouse, how stereotypical, Jezebel thought to herself as she stepped into the light and looked at the man there.

"You know, I have a phone." She said pulling the device from her pocket and showing it to him before tucking it away again in the pocket of her coat. She paced around the edge of the light and looked at the crates. "This is all well, good, and clever, very clever, but you could have just phoned." She said as she moved to stand in front of the man and noted the chair. "Why don't you take a seat, your arthritis must be bothering you, you've been on your leg for hours now." She said with a smirk and watched the man's smile broaden.

"When one is avoiding the attention of a Sherlock Holmes one learns to be discreet. Hence this place." The man replied, ignoring her order to sit in favor of looking around smugly. "You don't seem very afraid." He commented turning back to Jezebel.

"You don't seem frightening, please sit that leg really must be bothering you."

"Perhaps I don't want to sit."

"Then perhaps you're being foolish." Jezebel snapped lightly as she resumed her pacing around the circle. The man watched her before glaring at her petite form and moving over to the chair gracefully lowering himself before ending up merely plopping into the seat. Jezebel smirked in response and moved to stand in front of him.

"What is your relationship to Sherlock Holmes." The man asked her, Jezebel grinned.

"What's yours?"

"That's beside the point, we're talking about _your _relationship with him."

"Why do you care?"

"Who said I care." The man huffed. Jezebel paused in her pacing and grinned.

"Obviously you care, you are his brother. Must be such a dreadful thing trying to keep track of him." Jezebel commented offhandedly. The man shot her an annoyed look.

"Which is what I'm trying to do here, now what is your relationship to Sherlock Holmes." The man ground out, quite fed up with her at this point. She was almost as bad as Sherlock. Jezebel moved close to the chair and looked down at him from her position, it was a slight height advantage but just enough to give the man a slight tremor and make him lean away slightly.

"Whatever I need it to be." She replied quietly, her voice soft but sharp as a knife. Then she abruptly turned and went back to her pacing, the man flinched at the sudden action before standing in order to regain some semblance of control. Clearing his throat the man caught Jezebel's attention.

"I hear you've recently moved in to two-hundred twenty one baker street. I'd like to offer you a substantial amount of money to help ease your move." He said confidently as Jezebel confidently dropped into the chair he had so recently vacated.

"You want me to spy on him."

"That's a rather crude way of putting it. But yes, I want information about what he his doing."

"You can't do that with the bugs you have all over that flat?"

"Sherlock continues to take them down."

"Have you ever considered thats a clue to bugger off?"

The man gave Jezebel a flat look which she returned with a sarcastic grin.

"Perhaps I'm worried."

"You do care."

"Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side." He hissed irritated from between his teeth.

"Bonds keep the world together, where would we be without chemical bonding." Jezebel said easily as she stood gracefully and held out her hand. "The money."

"You'll do as I ask?"

"Of course, must help the concerned big brother, right?" She asked giving him a grin as she saw the barely there relaxing of his features as the worry faded away. A nice stack of bills were placed in her hand and Jezebel smirked before leaving. "Oh, and next time, pick a better revenue." With that she was gone heading back to the car where Anthea was waiting behind the driver's seat this time. instead of taking the back as she was obviously supposed to, Jezebel sat in the passenger seat and watched the world go by out the window as they headed back to Baker street, the wallet John had left at the diner in a small black bag in her lap. Upon arriving at Baker street Jezebel got out of the car and headed up to the door, silently picking the lock and slipping inside. Mrs. Hudson still needed to have her key made.

Once upstairs in 221B she looked around at the scene in front of her. John was in his armrest, a forgotten cup of tea by his side as he watched some rubbish soap opera. Sherlock was on the couch, three nicotine patches on his arm as he puzzled over the case, his hands folded neatly over his lips and his eyes closed. Jezebel pulled the wallet from the bag and tossed it to John, who startled so badly he nearly fell out of the chair before pulling out half of the cash she had gotten from the man earlier and dropping it on Sherlock's chest with a light thump.

"Compliments of your brother."

"He ask you to spy on me."

"Yes."

"You accepted." John interceded looking almost offended. Jezebel grinned as Sherlock sat up.

"Of course, not accepting would have been stupid." She replied and moved to sit on the sofa next to Sherlock.

"You're brilliant, almost as brilliant as me." Sherlock said, a certain degree of happiness in his voice. Jezebel grinned.

"No, you're just getting close to me. Figured out who our murderer is yet?" She taunted, Sherlock looked at her confused. "I figured it out on the way home from visiting your brother. Who do we trust that we don't know?" She asked Sherlock and moved to sit on the table in front of him. "Come on genius think, what do most people use everyday? Something we wouldn't think twice about seeing?" She paused, watching as the gears turned in Sherlock's head before he jumped up excitedly.

"We need to call Lestrade."


	4. Chapter 3: What is it now?

"_Who do we trust that we don't know?" She asked Sherlock and moved to sit on the table in front of him. "Come on genius think, what do most people use everyday? Something we wouldn't think twice about seeing?" She paused, watching as the gears turned in Sherlock's head before he jumped up excitedly. _

"_We need to call Lestrade." _

Sherlock was the one to grab his phone first, but of course he hates calling people so he threw the phone to John as soon as he had pressed the send button. The flat was now a whirlwind of activity, Jezebel was up and grabbing certain things, her coat, her shoes, a hair tie, as was Sherlock.

"What is it now?" Lestrade's voice came from the other end and John realized he had no idea what to say. The former military doctor turned to the two detectives.

"Ah, well Sherlock and Jezebel seem to have had a revelation though I'm not sure what." John replied, almost bitterly as he was left out of the thought process of these two geniuses. Jezebel swiped the phone and hit speaker, laying it on the table as she sat back on the sofa, Sherlock quickly following her.

"The killer, he's a cabbie." Sherlock spoke up.

"Did you ever find out who Rachel is?" Jezebel asked quickly, getting a hostile look from Sherlock and she responded by shoving him off the couch. Sherlock sat on the floor for a moment before pulling the chair from the desk over and sitting across from her.

"Actually yes, she was Jennifer Wilson's only daughter." Lestrade said.

"Perfect, now we need to find her, wait, was?" Sherlock said quickly before pausing and looking at Jezebel in confusion. Jezebel gave him the same confused look and looked down at the phone as John moved closer and sat next to Jezebel warily.

"She's dead." Lestrade's voice sounded tired as he said this and Sherlock immediately lit up.

"Excellent is it connected?"

"No, she's been dead for fourteen years. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter."

Sherlock's face fell just as Jezebel's lit up.

"Rachel, oh she's brilliant." She exclaimed and grabbed John's laptop from his desk. John almost went to protest before Jezebel gave him a look that had him settling back into his seat.

"What do you mean Rachel?" Lestrade's confused voice came through the speaker, it sounded as though he was about to question further when Sherlock interrupted, the same conclusion coming to him merely seconds after Jezebel.

"Lestrade, there should be an email on the tag of the case." Sherlock said and moved over to the couch, shoving it's current occupants over to make room for himself. Plastic crinkled over the phone as Lestrade shifted the case before reading out the email. Jezebel's fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed it in.

"Wait, we don't have the password." John said as he watched the screen realizing what they were doing.

"Yes we do." Jezebel said confidently typing in the password. "Rachel."

The screen displayed a loading sign only for a moment before opening up to her homepage.

"Great you can read her emails." Lestrade said sarcastically.

"She didn't have a laptop, she did all her work from her phone-" Jezebel began

"Meaning it's a smartphone-" Sherlock continued

"So it has gps." They finished together. They shot each other a look before Jezebel rolled her eyes and clicked on the locate my phone. Once there Jezebel looked at it confused before clicking refresh and blinking at it again. When the screen didn't change she rushed over to the window.

"Sherlock." She said quietly.

"What is it? Where is it?" Sherlock asked as he went for the computer.

"It's here." Jezebel replied and at that Lestrade started swearing.

"Listen you two stay put, don't do anything rash-" Lestrade's rant wasn't finished when the two were down the stairs and heading out the front door. By the time John had picked up the phone and went to follow they were in the back seat and the cab had taken off.

"Dammit!" John yelled in frustration and began to explain to Lestrade.

In the back of the cab it was silent, Jezebel and Sherlock sitting as far from each other as possible as the cabbie drove them around London.

"How did you find me?" Sherlock asked the driver.

"Oh, I recognised yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes! I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!" The cabbie replied. "Didn't recognise yer friend 'ough." Jezebel grinned silently and continued to look out the window.

"She's not important." Sherlock said. Jezebel's grin fell and was quickly replaced by annoyance. "Who warned you about me?"

"You've got yourself a fan Mr. 'olmes." Was the only reply from the cabbie. Silence descended on the group again and the two in the back watched the world outside go by. Eventually they pulled up to Ronald Kurr Further Education College. The cabbie got out and opened the back driver's side door for Jezebel. She stepped out and looked at the college, listening as Sherlock got out on his side.

"Why here?" Jezebel asked. The cabbie shrugged.

"It's open; cleaners are in. Good thing about being a cabbie; you always know a good quiet spot for a murder. Surprised more of us don't branch out." He answered.

"How do you get them in the building. Just walk them in?" Sherlock asked and the cabbie shook his head.

"I use this." The cabbie pulled out a gun and placed it against Jezebel's temple.

"Hm boring." Jezebel said quietly and the cabbie grinned.

"It gets better. I don't need this with you, you'll follow me." He said and lowered the weapon to place it back in his jacket. The cabbie quickly turned on his heel and purposely walked into the building. Jezebel and Sherlock paused only a moment before sighing and moving to head into the building. Once they arrived at the steps however, Jezebel quickly stuck her foot out and tripped Sherlock. As the taller man sprawled on the ground Jezebel smirked down at him.

"You should watch where you're going. Seems important." She verbally jabbed and headed into the building leaving Sherlock to scramble up on his own. The taller detective quickly followed her in, easily catching up due to his longer strides, before falling into step next to her. They walked in silence following the sound of the cabbie's footsteps until the ended up inside a large classroom. Solid looking wood tables were bolted to the floor with plastic comfortable looking chairs. On the board were the note from that days lesson, so the cleaners hadn't come to this room yet then. The two detectives looked at each other.

"Well what do you think?" The cabbie asked. Sherlock turned to him drawing his attention as Jezebel continued to pace around the room.

"Think about what?" Sherlock asked, keeping the cabbie's attention as Jezebel easily pickpocketed the man.

"Your the one who's going to die here."

"No I'm not."

"That's what they all say." The cabbie pulled out a chair and sat down. "Now, shall we talk?"

Jezebel inspected the bottles which she had taken from his pocket for a moment before moving to sit with Sherlock across from the cabbie.

"It's a little risky bringing both of us here." Jezebel said confidently as she leaned back in the chair the cabbie scoffed.

"You think that's a risk? This is a risk." The cabbie reached into his pocket before quickly checking the other. A confused look crossed his face as Jezebel grinned. Reaching into her own pocket she pulled out the three bottles and set them on the table. "Two are the real poison right?" She asked with a grin as she picked up a random bottle. "Can you tell which one is the fake now?"

The cabbie sat there stunned into silence before shaking his head. "No, they're identical."

Sherlock grinned and the two detectives leaned forward. "Do you still want to play the game?" He asked lowly. The cabbie looked at the two with fear filled eyes.

"Enough talk, let's play." The cabbie said quickly, grabbing one of the bottles randomly.

"Oh we are playing-" Jezebel began.

"This is our move-"Sherlock continued.

"You have shaving cream behind your ear."

"There are traces from where it's happened before."

"No one is there to tell you-"

"So you live alone."

"Yet there is a picture of children in your cab."

"The mother's been cut out, if she died she'd still be there."

"The photo is old-"

"But the frame is new."

"You think of them often."

"But you don't get to see them."

"What a shame." Jezebel interrupted with a quiet click of her tongue. "She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts, must be awful."

"And yet there's more your clothes-"

"They're recently laundered"

"But everything you're wearing is at least…" Sherlock paused and the two looked at the cabbie for a moment.

"Three years old." The said together.

"You're keeping up appearances-" Sherlock started.

"But you're not planning ahead." Jezebel finished and they both sat back.

"Here you are on a kamikaze killing spree."

"Why?" Jezebel asked rhetorically. The cabbies face went from slack and confused to completely blank in seconds. The two stared at him for a moment before a collective lightbulb went off.

"Three years ago is when they told you." Sherlock said softly.

"Told me what?" The cabbie asked.

"That you're a dead man walking." Jezebel finished just as quietly.

"You don't have long do you?" Sherlock asked. The cabbie looked between the two of them before a small, bitter smile crept across his face.

"Aneurysm, right 'ere." The cabbie said and tapped lightly at his temple. "any breath could be my last."

"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people." Sherlock concluded.

"I've _outlived_ four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism." The cabbie responded.

"There must be something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about-"

"You _are_ good, ain't you?" The cabbie asked.

"But _how_?" Sherlock insisted.

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs." The cabbie responded.

"Or serial killing." Jezebel commented sarcastically.

"You'd be surprised." The cabbie said with a grin.

"Surprise us." Jezebel and Sherlock said at the same time.

"I 'ave a sponsor." The cabbie replied. Shock appeared on both the detective's faces for a moment before they covered it.

"A what?" Sherlock asked.

"Very eloquent." Jezebel muttered sarcastically.

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think." The cabbie replied.

"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?" Jezebel beat Sherlock to the question.

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'olmes?" The cabbie asked. Silence descended on the room as the detectives watched the cabbie. "You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, but you're just a man ... and they're so much more than that."

The two detectives frowned in distaste.

"What d'you mean, _more_ than a man?" Sherlock asked.

"There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter. Time to choose." The cabbie was quick to pull the bottle close to him and inspect them quickly. Sherlock was busy puzzling over what the cabbie said so he didn't notice the slight shift in the cabbie's face when the safe bottle was picked, but Jezebel did. The cabbie placed the bottles in a straight line down the middle of the table but Jezebel had already noticed the smallest difference in the safe bottle, it wasn't scuffed up. The bottles with the poisons inside them were scuffed from the previous victims, the cabbie mustn't have had the time to replace the bottles before having to act against her and Sherlock.

"What if we don't choose?" She suddenly asked. Sherlock's attention turned to her, as did the cabbies. "We could just walk out."

The cabbie let out a disappointed sigh as he pulled out the gun again.

"You can take the chance of guessing correctly, or I can shoot you." He answered. Jezebel turned to look out of the corner of her eye at Sherlock and he gave a slight nod, indicating he had noticed what she had.

"We'll take the gun." She said confidently.


	5. Chapter 4: Moriarty

_The cabbie let out a disappointed sigh as he pulled out the gun again._

"_You can take the chance of guessing correctly, or I can shoot you." He answered. Jezebel turned to look out of the corner of her eye at Sherlock and he gave a slight nod, indicating he had noticed what she had. _

"_We'll take the gun." She said confidently._

"Are you sure?" The cabbie asked.

"Definitely. The gun." Sherlock said with a grin.

"You don't wanna phone a friend?" The cabbie asked yet again.

"The gun." Jezebel said with a smirk on her own lips. The cabbie's mouth tightened and he aimed the gun at Sherlock. Slowly he squeezed the trigger, a small click, and a small flame leapt out of the barrel of the gun.

"I know a real gun when I see one." Sherlock said, his smirk still firmly in place as he sat back in his seat. The cabbie lifted the pistol and let go of the trigger, extinguishing the small flame.

"None of the others noticed it." The cabbie said quietly.

"Clearly. Well, this has been _very_ interesting. I look forward to the court case." Jezebel said and stood from her seat, Sherlock quickly followed and they began to walk out of the room.

"Before you go, did you figure it out which is the safe bottle?" The cabbie asked, half turned towards the two detectives..

"Of course. Child's play." Sherlock bluffed.

"Well, which one, then?" The cabbie asked. Jezebel rolled her eyes and walked over to the table, snatching up the less marked bottle.

"It's this one, likely just a sugar pill." She said and the cabbie grinned.

"Are you willing to try it?" He asked as he took the other two bottles. "Pick one to go back in my pocket." He said to Sherlock. Sherlock picked a random bottle and tossed it in the trash. The cabbie grinned and unscrewed the cap of the bottle left. "Shall we take our medicine?"

"We shall." Jezebel said confidently as she unscrewed her own bottle. Tipping the bottle the pill fell into her hand and she held the empty bottle up to the light, noticing there were no scuff marks that would have been on the bottle of a terrified victim. Sure of herself she lifted the pill to her lips, the cabbie doing the same and putting it to his lips as well. The cabbie smirked at her and Jezebel smirked back easily popping the pill in her mouth and biting down on it, the resounding crunch audible in the quiet room. The sweet taste of cane sugar spread across her tongue and she continued to chew, until it was fully broken up. The cabbie watched her face for a minute before his own paled dramatically and he looked down at the pill in his own hands.

"Well go on then." Jezebel purred. "Take your medicine."

The cabbie paused and in that moment a gun shot ripped into his shoulder and he fell to the ground. Jezebel looked from the cabbie to the direction the bullet came from before turning to Sherlock. Together they both jumped tables and sprinted to the window, examining the hole there and in the window across from it. Jezebel was the one to turn away first and head back to the cabbie laying on the floor writhing in pain.

"Tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? I want a name." Jezebel said as she stood over the dying man. The cabbie shook his head barely.

"No." The reply was weak.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give us a name." Sherlock said as he came over and stood on the other side from Jezebel. The cabbie shook his head again and Jezebel rolled her eyes before placing her foot on his wounded shoulder. The cabbie whimpered slightly in pain.

"A _name." _Jezebel repeated and pressed lightly onto his shoulder. The cabbie cried out in pain. "Now." Jezebel hissed angrily. Still the cabbie only whimpered in pain. Jezebel's face reflected intentness and Sherlock stood by watching with a blank face before heading to the window to notice the cop cars coming nearer.

"Jezebel, we'll need to hurry." He commented.

Jezebel leaned her weight forward onto his shoulder.

"The _NAME!"_She yelled at the cabbie.

"_MORIARTY!" _Was the agonised reply before the cabbie's head rolled to the side and his last breath escaped his lips. Sherlock looked at his reflection in the mirror and silently mouthed: Moriarty. Jezebel froze for a second before tearing away from the body at her feet.

"Of course, of course!" She cried hysterically and kicked the body at her feet. "Fucking Moriarty. I should have known." She ranted before heading over to Sherlock and dragging him out of the classroom with her. Sherlock quickly pulled his arm away from the furious redhead.

"What on earth has gotten into you?" He asked.

"Moriarty, that's what."

"Who's Moriarty?"

Jezebel looked at Sherlock annoyed before realizing he really didn't know.

"Moriarty is like us, but on the other side of the field. A consulting criminal." She explained before turning on her heel and continuing down the hallway until they got outside. Once outside they were bombarded by lights and sounds, Lestrade was the first one to them.

"What were you two thinking, running off with the murderer! What happened to him?" Lestrade yelled over the sirens. Jezebel stormed off the steps and headed down towards the street where she could see Sherlock's brother and his over the top black car. Sherlock was left there to deal with an irate Lestrade as the redhead stormed over to the well dressed man and Anthea.

"Moriarty, know the name?" She growled. The man looked at her silently.

"No, it's not familiar."

"Why is it that both you and your brother don't know anything about the largest threat to the entire United Kingdom?" Jezebel huffed and spun to face away from him, thinking silently to herself before turning back around.

"Surely if I don't know about him then he isn't a large problem." The man said in an attempt to soothe the angered woman in front of him.

"No, Moriarty is a very large and present danger," Jezebel said thoughtfully. She was calmer now and thinking more rationally. "See Moriarty himself hates to get his hands dirty, but I guarantee you he has an advanced web of criminals at his beck and call, this cabbie was just one of them. If you dig deep enough into all of the more recent criminal cases I guarantee it has Moriarty all over it."

The man paused in thought for a moment. When he next opened his mouth he didn't ask how she knew this but merely assured.

"We'll look into it." Reaching into the left inside pocket of his coat he pulled out a business card and handed it to her. The only thing it said was _Mycroft Holmes_ and had a number just below it. Silently Jezebel nodded and put it into her pocket before turning to leave. "Oh and Miss Blithe," Mycroft called back to her. Jezebel stopped and looked back at him. "It would be best not to let my brother know of your own vendetta against Moriarty." Jezebel nodded silently. As she walked back towards the crime scene where she could see John standing she glanced at the watch on her wrist, it was still six hours behind. Sighing lightly to herself she reset it and turned on her heel. She would catch her own taxi back to 221B, she needed to think.

As Jezebel left on her own Sherlock was attempting to shut Lestrade up. Finally getting away from the detective inspector he headed over to John. As they passed Mycroft John waved slightly and Sherlock completely ignored his brother in favor of hailing a cab to take them home. As the boys got in their cab Mycroft turned to Anthea.

"We need to upgrade her surveillance status. Grade three." He said calmly.

"Sorry sir, who?"

"Jezebel Blithe."


	6. Chapter 5: Domestic Bliss

The ride across London was uneventful for the red headed detective, and it was a good thing as well because Jezebel couldn't promise she wouldn't completely destroy anyone who interrupted her at the moment. Building behind her eyes was a kind of pressure that signalled her anxiety was rising and soon she would have a full blown migraine, which would not be good for any average member of the population. As Jezebel looked out the window and attempted to calm her racing thoughts the clouds opened up and the rain began to pour down. The pounding against the roof of the cab had Jezebel closing her eyes and placing her forehead to the cool glass of the window as the noise increased the throbbing in her head. The cab soon came to a stop and Jezebel threw some bills at the cabbie before opening the door and heading for 221. In the short travel from the cab to the door and the time it took for her to pick the lock, she really needed a key from Mrs. Hudson, she was completely drenched and her head was hurting even worse from the cold.

Standing in the doorway of 221 Jezebel shivered before heading up the stairs stiffly to 221B. Once inside she stripped off her soaked coat and hung it up. Her shoes soon squelching off her feet as well as her soaked socks. Padding into the living area silently Jezebel stood still for a moment before Sherlock realized she was there.

"Ah, Jezebel you're back." He asked as he turned before taking in her clothes. The sound of his voice pierced her head and made her wince as she rubbed at her temples. "What happened?"

"It's raining." She said quietly. Sherlock took the hint and lowered his own voice.

"Well, we'll just need to get you some new clothes. John, make the tea." He murmured to John. John picked up the hint and quietly went about making the tea as Sherlock led Jezebel back to his room.

"There are clothes in the boxes downstairs." Jezebel murmured quietly.

"Ah but that would take too long, this is much easier." Sherlock replied just as softly as he rummaged through the drawers. "Do you need everything or just the outside layers?" He asked and turned to look over his shoulder at her. She stood there shivering slightly and gave him a look. "Right, everything." Turned back to the drawers he pulled out a thick warm pair of black socks, black boxers, dark blue pajama pants, and a white tank top. "Come with me." He murmured and carried the bundle of clothes to the bathroom where he ran a hot bath. "Can't have you getting sick." He said softly before leaving the room and giving Jezebel the privacy necessary to bathe and change. 30 minutes later the bathroom door opened and Jezebel came out in the too large clothes. The pant legs hung at least a foot past her feet, the tank top fell to mid thigh and her had to keep pulling the neckline up from here it would sag. Gratefully she took the offered black robe from Sherlock and wrapped it around herself before settling in Sherlock's chair by the fire. John came out of the kitchen with nice, hot cups of tea and there was peaceful silence in the flat as the three of them sat by the fire.

Soon soft footsteps where heard on the stairs and Mrs. Hudson popped into the room.

"Oh hello dears, I was just wanting to speak with Jezebel about where she would be sleeping tonight. I'm afraid I haven't gotten any furniture to go in C yet and there's no room in my flat at the moment either." She said before covering her mouth with a hand as she yawned softly. "I just wanted to make sure something was worked out before going to bed."

"Oh not to worry Mrs. Hudson, I'll just curl up on the couch here." Jezebel replied with a small smile, Sherlock looked up from his position on the rug.

"Nonsense, you'll sleep in my bed. I'll take the couch." He said easily.

"No, I'll take the couch." Jezebel reaffirmed. Sherlock stood and moved in front of the chair Jezebel was in.

"You'll sleep in my bed, I'll take the couch. You've just been soaked to the bone, in order to prevent you from being sick we need to make sure you're properly covered-"

"Which I can do on the couch!" Jezebel interrupted in frustration. "Plus you are far too tall to fit on that couch comfortably Sherlock. You'll wake up with an awful crick in your neck and a twist to your back."

"I can fit on the couch!" Sherlock cried in indignation. Mrs. Hudson took one look at the scene, shook her head, said goodnight to John, and headed downstairs to her bed. Meanwhile John slipped into his bedroom to head to bed as well. The two detectives stared each other down. "Your frame, it's weak. Your joints need proper support, they didn't develop correctly did they?" Sherlock said triumphantly. Jezebel frowned up at him.

"Now just because I'm lacking a bit of cartilage in my spine, which has been medically corrected, doesn't mean I'm fragile. I can sleep on the couch for a few nights." She cried in frustration. Sherlock shook his head.

"No, that's the deciding factor, you'll take my bed." Sherlock said determinedly as he bent down and grabbed Jezebel about the waist.

"Hey, what are you, no put me down you oaf!" She cried out as she was slung over his shoulder. She placed her hands in the back of his jacket and threw her weight to his front resulting in her flipping over his tall frame and landing back with her feet in the armchair, Sherlock's shirt pulled up over his head. As the taller detective swore and fussed with his shirt Jezebel dropped into the chair and curled into a small ball her head resting on one of the armrests and the rest of her petite frame fitting in the chair easily. By the time Sherlock had himself righted she was curled up in such a manor that there were no handholds for him to force her from the chair again.

"Is it really so difficult as to accept something offered to you?" He asked her incredibly frustrated.

"You tell me." She shot back and Sherlock gave her a glare before turning himself and dropping into the opposite armchair, mirroring her position.

"Very well then." He said and closed his eyes, showing he clearly intended to sleep curled up in the chair. Jezebel sat upright.

"Surely you don't mean as to sleep there." She said incredulously. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at her only a moment before lunging, his body unfolding gracefully from the chair as he again hauled her up, this time carrying her bridal style and quickly carrying her back to his bedroom. Jezebel swore violently when he dropped her onto his black sheets and lunged out, grabbing the waistband of his pants and pulling him over until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "If I'm being forced here then you'll sleep here as well." She said stubbornly. Sherlock and Jezebel had a heated glaring contest. "If you refuse I will head straight back out to that couch." She threatened and Sherlock seemed to deflate somewhat.

"Fine." He grumbled as he stood before walking to the other side of the bed. Jezebel grinned triumphantly and sat up to strip the robe from her shoulders and allow herself to sleep in just the tank top and pajama pants. As Jezebel laid on her side she caught a glimpse of Sherlock pulling his shirt over his head and rolled her eyes before she rolled onto her right side. Soon she felt the bed dip and she moved closer to the edge of the bed, Sherlock doing the same until the two of them were close to falling off the bed and onto the floor. There was a large gap between them, a no man's land that neither of them were willing to breech. The flat was soon quiet, only the sounds of the building shifting and John's occasional snore could be heard. Despite the peace Sherlock and Jezebel lay awake, staring at their respective walls, both minds buzzing at a mile a minute. Jezebel knew perfectly well why she wasn't able to get to sleep, though she loathed to admit it, she needed something to hold. Something to ground her to the moment instead of allowing her thoughts to run rapid. Little did she know that on the other side of the bed Sherlock was struggling for the same thing. His thoughts raced and he had no way to ground them, he also knew human contact would do the job. When he was much younger he would go to Mycroft. Of course that stopped shortly after he hit puberty, but those were the best nights because he had actually been able to sleep properly. Minutes passed before Jezebel rolled onto her back and looked over to Sherlock.

"Sherlock." She called quietly, the man rolled onto his side, facing her as she shifted to mirror him. Silently they looked at each other, both knowing that the other was struggling to hold onto reality as well. Hesitantly Jezebel stretched out a hand, laying it in the middle of the no man's land between them. Sherlock merely looked at it and Jezebel sighed, preparing to roll back over and face a night of sleeplessness when a warm and much larger hand gently wrapped around her small one. Jezebel looked at Sherlock in surprise and smiled. They laid like that for several moments, the silence more comfortable now. Their eyes locked and without a thought they came together in the middle of the bed, Sherlock's arms wrapped around Jezebel's waist and he rested his head on the top of hers, her red curls pressed into his cheek gently. Jezebel's arms found their way around his neck loosely, resting more across the top of his shoulders as she buried her face in his chest. The two stayed like this and soon both of their breathing evened out and they fell asleep, anchored to reality through the comfortable sound of the others heartbeat and breathing.

In the morning everything was normal. John woke up, headed to the kitchen, boiled the tea, then sat with his paper in front of the telly. It became peculiar when Sherlock didn't wake up at his normal time. Precisely at 8 am everyday they didn't have a case Sherlock would walk out of him room searching for his tea. But as the clock crept past 8:15 John supposed that Sherlock was finally getting the sleep he needed and continued on with his morning ritual. John finished his tea, washed and put away the cup, headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth, comb his hair, shave, and shower. It was when all of this was done and John noted it was 9 am and Sherlock still wasn't awake that John began to worry. John padded lightly down the hallway and knocked gently on the door, getting no response he knocked a bit harder, still no response. Gently John turned the handle and opened the door.

"Sherlock?" He called out questioningly before pausing in the doorway at the sight in front of him. There in the middle of the large bed where Sherlock and Jezebel wrapped tightly around each other. Jezebel was laying mostly on top of Sherlock, her head resting on his chest, one arm rested on his his shoulder while the other rested alongside his head. Sherlock's head was pillowed on the arm next to him, the small hand cupping his face gently and his own arms were wrapped tightly around Jezebel's waist. Both detectives looked so peaceful in their sleep the John gently closed the door and headed back into the living room.

Hours passed and John went out to the store, had a row with the checkout machine, put away to groceries he finally got, and cleaned the kitchen up. He was in the process of preparing lunch when the door to Sherlock's room creaked slightly and two pairs of footsteps came down the hall. Jezebel came out, wrapped in the comforter from Sherlock's bed and Sherlock was tying her robe while carrying the excess of the comforter that was far too large of Jezebel by herself. After Jezebel had sat herself in a chair at the table Sherlock draped the rest of the comforter around her before taking his own seat at the table. The two were quite a pair at the moment. Sherlock's hair was even wilder than usual and his face slightly scraggly as he hadn't shaved yet. Jezebel was in no better condition, but somehow the two looked so debauched that John actually wondered if they shagged before shaking his head. He knew that they hadn't because Sherlock just isn't interested in people like that. As for Jezebel, well, John wasn't sure but she seemed fairly similar to Sherlock so far and therefore she wouldn't look at people that way either.

Finally lunch was ready and John placed the food on the table, watching to make sure the two detectives ate something instead of just sitting there thinking, before he grabbed his own plate and tucked in. The flat stayed quiet aside from the sound of utensils scraping plates and soon John stood, washing the dishes and putting them away.

"You seem well suited for domestic bliss, John." Jezebel said with a small smirk before standing and heading towards the living room. Sherlock stood and began to follow, catching her when she tripped over the edge of the blanket. Jezebel huffed quietly but allowed him to help her get situated in front of the telly before Sherlock sat next to her. John headed into the living room as well and sat down in his armchair. All three of them breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the tension drained from them, god knows the peace wouldn't last long.


	7. Chapter 6: William Sherlock Scott Holmes

Unfortunately, the peace lasted for far longer than anyone had expected. The only crimes happening were stereotypical murders, robberies, and strings of petty crimes. The most interesting case they have had recently was barely a four, which is why they were now sitting in a freezing cell listening to a prisoner talk. This was their four.

"Just tell us what happened from the beginning." Sherlock said, already looking bored. Jezebel sat in a metal chair next to him wrapped up tightly in not only her coat but a blanket that Sherlock had thought to bring with them. After living together for almost a week now Sherlock knew that Jezebel became chilled easily and his more caring side seemed to be drawn out around her. The man sitting across from them was dressed in only a single layer, making Jezebel wonder how he could stand the bone aching cold.

"We'd been to a bar – a nice place – and, er, I got chattin' with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't 'appy with that, so ... when we get back to the 'otel, we end up havin' a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?" Berwick, the prisoner, replied. Sherlock let out a long drawn out breath and Jezebel grimaced in distaste. "She was always gettin' at me, sayin' I weren't a real man."

Jezebel closed her eyes and let out a sigh.

"_Wasn't _a real man." Sherlock corrected. Berwick looked at him surprised.

"What?" Was the ever eloquent reply.

"It's not "weren't"; it's "wasn't."

"Oh."

"Continue." Jezebel interrupted annoyed and wanting to get out of the freezing cold.

"Well, then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there's a knife in my hands. And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives." Berwick said and both detectives' eyes darted to his hands for a moment. "He learned us how to cut up a beast."

"Taught."

"What?" Berwick asked, his voice clearly holding the beginnings of anger. Sherlock continued despite the obvious emotion being shown.

"Taught you how to cut up a beast."

Jezebel rolled her eyes and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, shivering as she curled up into a ball.

"Sherlock…" She said quietly. Sherlock looked over to her.

"I know, we'll be done soon." He answered back and frowned at her as another shiver wracked her body. He reached over and grabbed the bottom of her chair, pulling it closer with a loud squealing until she was directly next to him. Sherlock pulled off his gloves and placed them over her already gloved hands before readjusting the blanket around her. When he was satisfied he sat back and put an arm around her waist, pulling her closer so they could share body heat. If Jezebel wasn't so cold she would protest the action but the heat was nice so she merely curled closer. Berwick paused in confusion before Sherlock made a motion for him to continue.

"Yeah, right, well then I done it."

"Did it." Jezebel quipped.

"Did it! Stabbed her over and over." Berwick shouted slamming his fist into the table Jezebel watched the fit and rolled her eyes.

"Not worth it." She murmured to Sherlock.

"I know." He replied. Berwick didn't notice this interaction and continued on.

"And when I looked down she weren't…" Sherlock blew out a loud breath and turned to look down at Jezebel, checking quickly for signs of frostbite or hypothermia and Berwick reigned in his temper. "_Wasn't _moving no more." Sherlock looked at him annoyed. "Anymore." Berwick corrected himself.

"Look at that, you can teach an old dog new tricks." Jezebel said before uncurling and standing heading for the door. Sherlock quickly followed making her pause so he could re-adjust her jacket and blanket when Berwick got frantic.

"You've gotta help me Mr. Holmes!" Seeing he had Sherlock temporary attention he continued. "You're the best. Without you, I'll get hung for this."

Jezebel had begun to walk out of the room and Sherlock followed before pausing at the door.

"No, no, no, no Mr. Berwick, not at all." He paused for a second before grinning. "Hanged, yes." He said and headed out of the room quickly catching up to the frozen red head. Silently he caught up to her and pulled her close before quickly pulling her into the car and turning up the heat. Their trip to the airport was quiet, Sherlock trying to unthaw Jezebel slightly before they had to get out and make the trip through airport security and to the private jet for them. Once they were on the plane Jezebel sat next to the heater and continued to shiver slightly. Sherlock boiled the water and handed her a nice hot cup of tea before sitting next to her. Silently Jezebel curled up next to him and sipped at the tea. Finally when the plane touched down Jezebel was no longer shivering and they headed to the back of the cab waiting for them Finally arriving back at 221B Sherlock ushered Jezebel inside and forced her to sit on the couch as he retrieved the blankets from his bed. With blankets in hand he headed back to the living and wrapped them around Jezebel's frame.

"Mrs. Hudson said C will be ready for me today." She commented though still slightly shivering teeth. Sherlock ignored her as he made tea. "I think I'll sleep down there tonight."

Sherlock paused in his motions before continuing. "That's absurd, you'll freeze down there. It's too drafty for you. You'll stay here." Sherlock insisted. Jezebel looked at him from her blanket cocoon before a smirk spread across her lips.

"Of course Mr. Holmes, as you wish." She said grinning before easily shoving the blankets from her shoulders. "Stop being a mother hen, worry wort." Jezebel continued to grin as she stood and padded down the stairs and to C, where her boxes were placed along the walls. Mrs. Hudson was already done and now there was a bed in the middle of the room, a small kitchen branched off to one side and two small doors led to the bathroom and the closet respectively. Humming quietly to herself Jezebel began to sort boxes. The boxes with clothes were set by the stairs to go up to B, boxes with books were placed by the bookshelves lining the walls, and her scientific equipment was deposited in the middle of the room. It took all of twenty minutes for Sherlock's curiosity to pull him down to the basement and once there he found Jezebel knee deep in test tubes, microscope slides, and refrigerated boxes.

"Obnoxious movers don't understand what it means to be gentle with a box. Honestly!" She huffed as she pulled out a petri dish with her now ruined colony of bacteria. She let out a huff again and continued to sort through her experiments. Some of which were salvageable but others, well, they didn't make the trip. Sherlock stood at the base of the stairs silently until Jezebel noticed he was there. "Oh Sherlock, perfect. Mind helping move those boxes up to B?" She asked as she gently disentangled herself from the mess on the floor. The two of them quickly managed to get her clothes into B and settled into the closet and dresser along with Sherlock clothes. With that done they headed back down to C and Sherlock began to help her unpack. It didn't take long between the two of them and soon they even had Sherlock's experiments down in the basement with Jezebel's equipment, along with the body parts which had been moved into the refrigerator in C.

Happily they set about their experiments, and that's how John found them when he returned from the store. The former military doctor came down the stairs to the basement cautiously.

"Sherlock?" He called, afraid of startling the two. Finding Sherlock bent over a microscope and Jezebel jotting quickly into a notebook he paused. "Have you two eaten?" John asked curiously. Jezebel and Sherlock continued for a moment before reaching a point they both deemed appropriate for a break and looked up at John. They both paused for a moment to think.

"We had-"

"No that was-

"Right, but there was the-"

"Nope, again it was-"

"Right." Sherlock concluded and they both gave affirmative looks to each other before Jezebel turned to John.

"No, we haven't."

"Would you two want something to eat?" John asked and Sherlock snorted turned back to his microscope. Jezebel swiped the slide out from it and Sherlock lifted his head blinking the spots from his vision.

"We'd love it. Thank you John." Jezebel said as she began to put away the slides. John watched for a moment in stunned silence before nodding and heading upstairs to make tea and call for take out. There was the sound of something hitting a wall in C along with a few quiet words exchanged between the two detectives as they fought for a moment before two pairs of footsteps were heard on the stairs and Jezebel popped into the room with a smile, dragging a pouting Sherlock with her. Once Sherlock was sat in his seat John pulled Jezebel into the kitchen.

"How did you do that?" John asked quietly.

"Do what?"

"Get him to come up here and eat."

"I merely recited some studies showing the way hunger affects the brain as it begins to lack essential nutrients." Jezebel said nonchalantly, as if it wasn't difficult to get the stubborn detective to behave. With that done Jezebel collected the tea from the counter and headed back into the living room. Handing the surly detective his tea she sat across from him and opened a book. For a while the flat was silent, everyone simply enjoying their task. The food came and everyone ate. All in all it was mere domestic bliss. John finished his tea, collected the trash and headed into the kitchen. He dumped the trash in the bin and stood to make more tea. The tea was fully boiled when John realized that the milk had gone bad. Sighing quietly he dumped the carton into the bin as well before heading out to grab his coat and pull on his shoes.

"I'm going out to get the milk." John said before heading down the stairs and out the front door. It was silent in the flat for a few more moments before Jezebel stood.

"Come on Sherlock I still need a bit of help." She said and Sherlock stood following her down to 221C. It was silent as they unpacked until Sherlock came across something interesting.

"Is this-?"

"No"

"Ah, airsoft?"

"Yep."

Silence descended again as Jezebel continued to rustle through the boxes. Sherlock rustled around a bit more before there was a click and Jezebel yelped looking down at her arm where a small red dot was forming on her pale skin.

"What the- ow! Sherlock!" She yelped as she stood and grabbed the weapon from the male. Another click was heard and this time it was Sherlock who yelped, the bb catching him on the hand. Jezebel grabbed on of the boxes of bb's just as Sherlock grabbed the other gun from the box with his own container of bb's. Jezebel looked at him and they shared a grin before she began firing. Two more of the pellets hit Sherlock in the arms as she darted towards the stairs. Sherlock quickly followed, firing off pellets as he went. Jezebel let out another small cry as a pellet caught her in the back of the knee. "Ow!" She shouted and darted up the steps. Sherlock started up the stairs as well, a deep chuckle echoing up before him and Jezebel turned at the top of the stairs firing off a few more pellets, two hitting him in the knee. Sherlock fell face first on the stairs and Jezebel fell into a fit of laughter. Sherlock quickly stood and started back up the stairs and Jezebel darted off. Sherlock came out of the stairs, pellets flying everywhere as Jezebel attempted to avoid them. Jezebel began to fire back, each of them hissing when the sting of a bb hit them. Jezebel turned tail and began to head towards the stairs, intending to go up to B and lock the door but Sherlock beat her there. Time seemed to slow as Sherlock pulled the trigger on the airsoft gun and Jezebel crouched to avoid the barrage of pellets only for them to slam into the glass behind her of Mrs. Hudson's door. Losing her balance Jezebel fell back into the door behind her and the now cracked glass shattered under the force.

The two of them froze both looking at the shattered pieces on the floor. Silent moments passed before-

"Sherlock? What was that?" Mrs. Hudson called and her light footsteps began to come closer to the door. The two detectives shared a panicked look before they began sprinting up the stairs. Just as the door to B slammed closed Mrs. Hudson came upon the mess and quickly started up the stairs as fast her hip would let her.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Jezebel Anne Blithe, you two get down here and explain right this instant!" Mrs. Hudson's voice echoed up before her and had the two detectives locking and barricading the door.

"The kitchen!" Sherlock hissed urgently and they quickly headed into the kitchen, only having time to lock the door before Mrs. Hudson was upon them. Now giggling like school children they ran back to Sherlock's room and locked the door there as well and barricaded themselves in waiting for John to arrive home and hopefully call Mrs. Hudson off.


	8. Author's Note

Hi there everyone. No this isn't a chapter it's merely an author's note. I wanted to let everyone know that I have begun to re-write this story and have posted an updated version. I decided to do this simply because I was unhappy with my writing and I want to make it better. I don't know how much will change but I can guarantee that it's going to be somewhat major to major changes as I plan on explaining things better and further developing my thoughts. The plot may also change quite a bit but still follow similar lines. Anyway here is a link to the new story and I hope you all enjoy it. Feel free to leave comments, I love hearing what you think. s/ 10350760 /1/ Not-the-Only-One-Updated


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